


In Worship Of A Warrior Goddess

by Rinari7



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: A Touch of Pain Play, Consensual Kink, Cunnilingus, Domme!Helen, F/M, I feel like I should tag that as a kink, Leather, Nikola is totally a bratty sub, Porn with Feelings, Power Play, Putting On Boots, Sub!Nikola, except when he's not, foot worship, or does that fall under
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 07:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17055386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: He's never really been able tonotpush for more.





	In Worship Of A Warrior Goddess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elysandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysandra/gifts).



She's his Amazon, his Valkyrie, his Sekhmet and Athena, and when she dons her leather armor, he loses his breath. It’s the fire in her eyes in those moments that draws all oxygen from his lungs, draws him towards her. His skin, his heart has always been icebound, but she blazes enough for them both.

He'll do anything to be allowed to stay near. Today, that means remaining far.

“I don't need the distraction, Nikola,” she told him, “wondering what idiocy you might come up with next to screw up these negotiations.” 

(On some level, he understands, after what happened last week — not  _ his _ fault! though he can admit his presence was a factor. On another, he seethes at knowing she is dressing like  _ this _ — leather jacket over a v-neck top, form-fitting leather pants and her high leather boots lined up — for someone else. But this, too, is part of his punishment, part of the price he pays for existing in the orbit of Helen Sophia Magnus.)

She sits on the bed, twisting her hair up and back and clipping it in place, and gestures him over with a tilt of her head. He goes. Of course he goes, eagerly, sinking to his knees as they'd agreed so long ago, pressing his lips to the inside of her knee as they hadn't.

“Nikola,” she groans half a protest even as her legs fall that fraction of an inch further open. “We don't have the time for this. “

“ _ You _ don't have the time for this,” he murmurs. “ _ I _ have all the time in the world.”

“ _ I _ don't have time for this,” she corrects herself, “But that means you don't, either.”

“I can make it quick,” he practically begs, “You know I can.”

Every time she goes away like this, his affection, his admiration, turns into something a lot like need. Because she may not age but she still bleeds, still scars, and he's traced those white lines over her skin far too often to ever pretend this time could never be their last. “I do want to make sure you remember what you'll come back to, after all.”

“The pile of paperwork on my desk and all three hundred and forty-seven nubbins coming down with colds?” she answers sardonically, but her thumbs slide along the edge of her waistband and he darts his tongue over his lips.

“Among other things.” He looks up at her, and he knows his gaze is dark and pleading, and she bites her lip and unbuttons her pants. He grins. He can't help it. He loves how she keeps him at a distance, keeps him on his toes, and for these he loves the moments when she surrenders all the more. “There. Was that so hard?”

She laughs, darkly.

He draws her waistband down, nuzzling her cunt through her underwear, his lips skimming over the texture of lace. “Did you have something in mind for later?” he hums against her.

“Perhaps.” 

And now he knows her nonchalance is feigned, because he can taste her through the cloth. His mouth waters. His challenge has been issued, and now all he needs to do is make her forget which words she hadn't wanted to say.

(She has an exceptional memory.)

He licks over her underwear, firm and slow, and she bucks against his mouth. “Nikola…” It's half a warning. “You said quick.”

He's privately rueing that, just a bit. “As you wish.”  Slipping his fingers beneath the fabric, he pushes it to the side and pushes his fingers into her. Softly, she grunts, clenching hard, and he sucks her hooded clit in between his teeth.

“Has —  _ ah! _ — my old friend been showing you what he considers the recent classics of cinematography?”

_ K-a-t-e _ , he spells with his tongue, and Helen laughs, her muscles fluttering around his fingers as he curls them.

“No wonder she gets on so well with him,”  she pants, leaning back on her elbows, rocking her hips into his touch. But then her voice takes on the tinge of an edge again. “You have thirty seconds.”

He cheats, just a little, gently nipping at her labia, pressing his fingers into her Gräfenberg spot and arcing a small crackle of electricity between them. Helen shudders, suddenly, violently, her hips bucking, an incomprehensible cry ripped from her.

He propels her through two hard aftershocks, then withdraws completely, listens to her shaky inhale. He hasn't given her the time to get too messy, he notes in that detached part of his mind that knows how much rides on the meeting this afternoon, wants her to succeed as much as she does. He tugs lacy black silk back into its place, with a kind of tender pride.

Her smile, languid, approving, sends something perilously close to devotion spearing through him. She straightens, pulling her pants back up, and if it wasn't for that glint in her eye he might chalk up the past few minutes to a blessedly realistic daydream. “Come here,” she says — a request now, not an order.

He goes; of course he goes. She kisses him, thoroughly, running her fingers through his hair and licking herself off of his lips, and he groans, long and loud.

“I'm afraid you'll have to wait,” she murmurs afterwards, gleeful mischief in her smile. “But you  _ are _ the one who started something we had no time to finish.”

Awareness of his own arousal cracks through him now like a lightning bolt. He's straining his zipper; it will be a heavenly torture to  _ wait _ .

“Nikola,” she says softly, to get his attention, and he lifts his head from where he's rested it against her knee. “Mercy?”

He shakes his head. “No need.”

“I need my boots, then.” Her tone is still soft, but she crosses one knee over the other expectantly.

He focuses on the task he originally knelt here to do: gently fitting her feet into the boots, carefully zipping them up, tucking her pant legs in, smoothing his hands up the sides to make sure nothing will bunch or chafe. And he indulges himself several split seconds to lay his head against her calf, nuzzling up against her, taking in the smooth leather and her lavender perfume and the faintest taste of her lingering on his tongue.

She stands to leave, but not before kissing him again: soft, sweet, appreciative. He savors each and every single way she kisses him.

“Hurry back?” It's a touch more plaintive than he'd like, but the flicker of her eyelashes reassures him she'd prefer to stay, now, too.

“I will. I'm far from done with you, Nikola.”

He stays, shuddering in delicious anticipation.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this hits the smutty, kinky, (semi-) romantic spot you were looking for. ;)  
> I couldn't resist the prompts, nor could I resist referencing The Princess Bride in some small way (I hope it wasn't too obscure!).  
> (And yes, I know, I went over my own word limit... But it stayed within that ballpark and didn't turn into a 5k or 20k word epic as my Ficmas gifts are wont to do, so I'm counting that as a win.)


End file.
